#i'm willing to give you another chance but when you make a request please PLEASE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

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Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

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callme-holly · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!! Maybe you could write headcannons with the gang that have a s/o who’s getting picked on? Thank you!!

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐒/𝐎 𝐖𝐡𝐨’𝐬 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐧

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - I go back to school in like 2 days... yay, im so thrilled... Also I'm so sorry this took be so long to get to, my inbox is crazy right now but I swear I will get to everyone eventually !! Anyways, hope ya'll enjoy and as always my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 864 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of being jumped and fighting, that's it

Darry Curtis -

If Darry found out you were getting picked on by someone, he would go mental

Like he’d be pissed

He’d instantly want to know who it is who’s giving you trouble

If it’s the socs bothering you you best believe he’s walking everywhere with you

His concern would go through the roof

Darry doesn’t strike me as a typically violent person but if whoever is bothering you decides to jump you/cause you any physical harm, you best believe he’s starting something

If you’re upset, please let him take care of you, it’ll help calm him down somewhat

Sodapop Curtis -

If Soda finds out someone’s giving you trouble, he’ll instantly feel guilty

He takes it as his job to look after you and by someone hurting you either physically or verbally, he can’t help but feel like he’s let you down a little

He’ll get Steve to track down whoever it is who’s picking on you; you won’t have to worry about them anymore <33

He’ll cuddle with you for ages to try and make you feel better (although it’s mainly to help reassure himself that you’re okay)

Much like Darry, Soda will walk you everywhere

This boy will not risk leaving your side and if anyone so much as looks your way, he’s giving them a dirty look and pulling you in the opposite direction

Ponyboy Curtis -

Pony will feel horrible and a little annoyed when you tell him you’re getting picked on

If it’s the socs giving you trouble, he’s mad

He’ll walk you to and from places and will try to comfort you best he can

If it’s kids from school, he’s got your back

Pony will defend your case no matter what and if someone so much as says anything about you, he’s shutting them down with some smart comment real fast

And if you get jumped? Oh boy, he feels awful

He knows what it’s like to get jumped first hand and he’d never wish it upon anyone

He’d get Dallas to have a “word” with whoever it is bothering you and chances are, you won’t see them again after that

Johnny Cade -

Johnny gets so upset when he hears that someone is picking on you but he also gets really angry

Like, you don’t deserve anything bad that comes to you and he will do anything to protect you

I feel like people really down-play his character like, come on ya’ll, he literally stabbed someone to protect his friend

If he sees someone giving you grief, he’s standing up for you

He wouldn’t start a fight, no, but he’s definitely let them know what's up

If you get jumped, he’d comfort you in a heartbeat <33

You two have got the whole gang backing you both up, so there really isn’t anything to worry about when you’re with Johnny

Dallas Winston -

Oh, Dallas…

When he finds out you’re being picked on, he’s asking for names, appearances, addresses - you name it, this boy wants it

He will fight for you and he will make sure that whoever it is that’s bothering you, learns their lesson

And if you get jumped? He’s arranging a rumble and dragging in the Shepard gang to back him up

He’d walk you everywhere, and I mean everywhere

If you think he’s leaving your side for even a second, you’ve got another thing coming

He’s got an arm around your waist, your shoulders, his hand in your back pocket and if anyone so much as talks to you, he’s standing behind you, glaring them down

He’s defending you in a heartbeat, no matter who the person is that's giving you grief

Needless to say, nobody messes with Dallas Winston’s girl, and he’s willing to let everyone know just that

Steve Randle

Much like Dallas, Steve is asking for names almost instantly

He will not hesitate to fight someone for you

He gets so defensive on your behalf and will become insanely protective over you

If someone has said or done something to you that really bothered you, he’s comforting you and going after the person in a heartbeat

You’re his number one priority and he wants you to be happy at all times

You think he’s leaving your side? Nope, no chance

He’s gonna be one step behind you at all times and if he catches anyone giving you problems, they’re in for a rough time

I’m telling you, he’s shooting everyone dirty ass looks

If someone so much as says “hello” to you, Steve will be coming up behind you

“this person giving you trouble, babe?”

He’s just looking out for you

Two-bit Mathews -

The second you tell Two-but you’re being picked on, he’s smothering you with love

He’s not letting you go at all

He doesn’t want anyone making you think you’re worth less than you are

Secretly, he’s super pissed that someone would even think to mess with you and if he sees them, he won’t hesitate to confront them

He’s taking you everywhere you need to go, no complaints <3

If you get jumped, he will not hesitate to help fix you up before tracking down whoever hurt you

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

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finniestoncrane · 8 months ago

Note

HELLO FINNIE!! HELLOO FINNIEE!!!

We already talked a bit about this but, would you make some headcanons about how all the mercs from TF2 would hug and comfort someone having a bad awful day?? Please and thank so very very much LOVE YOU 🧡

TF2 Merc Headcanons thank you gus gus for asking me for my very personal and no doubt completely off-canon opinions on the boys!! i too needed some comfort and hugs from them omg u-u i'm also very much hoping that these work platonically and romantically!! ❤️ request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: comfort, hugs, cheering up attempts

scout

he struggles to take things seriously, younger brother in a sitcom ass

"there, there, it could always be worse... i guess, maybe... probably not though this is pretty bad"

a gentle pat on the shoulder, and then another, and then another, and then a relatively painful whack to see if the shock works

playful teasing that maybe makes things worse at first, but makes you giggle

and then when he takes it too far, gives you a reason to pummel him, which lets you release some of the anger!!

even with his often blunt and immature response, there's always a sense that he cares deeply

it's there in his embrace, a one armed side-hug that pulls you in close while he asks you in his softest tone

"hey, you wanna go play baseball or somethin'?"

pyro

hugging isn't actually his go to response, and it's not third or fourth on his list either

first of all, he's taking you outside to set fire to something

it's cathartic, and fun, and dangerous!! and FIREY

then he's trying all of the things that make him happy!!

you can play dolls with him? or have a tea party with his stuffies!

or maybe you just wanna lay on your tummy on the floor and do some colouring in

but if none of that cheers you up, and he can't destroy the thing/person that made you sad

then he'd wrap his rubbery little hands around you and bring you in for the biggest squeeze he can offer

sniper

pack it up fellas, it's time to head out on a "touch some grass (or sand)" nature trip to cure the blues

you get to sit up front in the van, obviously

not in the back where you're bouncing off the walls and ceilings

he'll stop at every service station to get you a fun beverage or a snack on the off chance that it will make you crack even a little smile

and then you'll be out there in the world, safe because he's standing directly beside you

he's surprisingly big on physical affection, so he'll have you in a side hug most of the time, just to keep you comforted

and before he lets you go off to your room, he'll get out of the van and give you the biggest hug

full body, very warm, very gentle, completely silent

heavy

the gentle energy in him is in itself, quite intense

likely because he has all of this stored up nurturing and soft encouragement and gentle adoration

but his sisters don't really need it (and let's face it they never did, he just over worried)

so if he has a reason to love and comfort, he's taking it

you'd barely even have to utter a little word of sadness and he'd be wrapped around you

maybe so tight that you might have to get your ribs checked at the emergency room

but the bear hug is worth it

it's warm, safe, comforting, everything that heavy is

and bonus: he can lift anything and anyone

so if you need to be cradled like a leetle behbeh to get some sleep or to work through the sadness, then he can do that!!

soldier

TURN YOUR FROWN UPSIDE DOWN SOLDIER!!

there's so much to be grateful for!! like freedom!! and honey!! and guns!! and america!!

but if none of that works, he's willing to put his shirt back on just long enough to let you nuzzle into his chest for a hug

and if you're very lucky, you might feel another large set of arms around you

because if soldier is hugging you, then zhanna is joining in

maybe with a menacing reminder to stay away from her man

but still with enough warmth that you're surrounded from both angles and left with a fuzzy feeling in your chest

and a little bit sweet and sticky too...

medic

a sensible shoulder pat is his first port of call, because he's usually elbow deep in some body cavity or other

and there's not much he can offer in the way of extensive comfort that doesn't involve you being covered in blood, or worse

but once he's cleaned up, he's all OVER you

you're just a little dove in need of some snuggles

a little soft coo in your ear while he holds you close

a gentle stroke with his large hands so he doesn't hurt you, keeping things light and gentle, not intense (as he usually is)

face smothered in his chest as he rocks you back and forth and sings a deeply concerning lullaby

and then, if none of that works, he'd let you root around in his pile of "dead bits" for something to carve up

it really does let out all of the tension and stress

engineer

oh no don't be sad, he can't engineer his way out of this one...

or can he... OH!! maybe what you need is some comfort, he can do that

just give him 16-20 hours and a large amount of sheet metal and screws

he can work something out, like a little machine that can pat your head at different intervals depending on your needs

or a set of arms that can hug you, as well as deploy turrets and toss grenades!!

but you still look sad... perhaps, while you're waiting on him to create the cure for your sadness

you'd like a little hug?

and honestly, who can hug better than a short king with thick arms? perfect height, perfect squeeze, sweet little honied words to make you smile

absolute love bug with a perfect remedy (eventually...)

demoman

"do you want to drown your sorrows like a horrible wee beastie?"

"or do you want me to come over there and cuddle ye like a wee bairn?"

you can choose one or the other, or both!! either way your soul is going to feel lighter and warmer by the time he's finished with you

and, realistically, you're gonna get hugged either way

once he's drunk enough he won't be able to stop himself from holding you so tight you can't breathe, smooshing your cheeks between his palms, and just generally loving all over you

"yer a bonnie wee thing, i wish you never had to pout they wee lips"

he's slurring his words, but they're all meant with the greatest of sincerity

and you can bet he'd be just as willing to do it all sober

spy

he's a man of few words when it comes to comfort

somehow, despite his confidence in every other area and his preparation for every scenario, this one escapes him

the risks are a lot greater, somehow, than anything else

because he feels like he has to cheer you up, he has to make you feel better

anything less is a failure in his mind

so if you come to him with wet, sad little eyes he won't say a word

a quick grab of you by the shoulders, bringing you in to his room

where he'll wrap a robe around you and make you a nice omelette

and feed it to you in manageable bites

and give you a little tiny peck on the cheek and a quick tap on the head

and then a hug that could be formal or very romantic, it's hard to ascertain the meaning behind it, but it gives you exactly what you need without revealing anything

#x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 x reader #ok now all the blockable tags are out of the way lmaoooo #tf2 #team fortress 2 #finnie writes #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 heavy #tf2 demoman #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier

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k-hotchoisan · 1 year ago

Note

(Updated version because I forgot to add one more detail!) Hello! Can I request an ATEEZ smut based on the song I Want You by SB19? Any member will do please?

Here's the Music Video: https://youtu.be/s25Yi6pZnMs?si= ZpzmmV6Yvy1Wa4bZ

And the sound Audio:

https://open.spotify.com/track /16GGH8OF6LISUTTbm8421f?si= 2zklm5olQIKxp2yodrwv1Q

Note: SB19 is a boy group from the Philippines (Which is my country (I'm born from the Philippines by the way haha))), which they became super popular because of the song "GENTO" (Which the song became super popular they did the dance challenge.) (San did that dance challenge! (https://youtu.be/zn8GzEhPqkl?si= qrHRBKWcasrAW2HC))

Thabk you and have a great time. 🌹

~Queennie

Hey Queennie (and also to my fellow readers) Thank you for waiting for this. I was in a rut and not mentally doing well. I hope you haven’t forgotten about me 😭🩷

Also note: YES IVE HEARD ABOUT SB19!! The song got me side eyeing in the best ways possible HAHAHA

The girl in front of him is stunning, but even when he’s all over her, he can’t seem to get you out of his head. So when his phone buzzes and it’s you, he finds himself standing before you with another chance he’s willing to gamble.

Genres/warnings: smut, angst(?) cream pies, orgasms, unprotected sex, fwb to exes to lovers?, Mingi is actually so hung up on you, reconciliation

🩷 Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs

10 months.

10 months since you both stopped talking.

Mingi thought he’d move on by then. The girl in front of him was absolutely stunning, her hands hanging loosely around his neck. She smells like vanilla, but he feels that it’s overpowering. He can’t really see her under the dim flashing lights of the club, but he doesn’t pull away when her hands pull his neck closer to kiss her.

He tastes the fruity cocktail in between her lips, and he can think about is the taste of yours, the feeling of your lips pressed against his. The mere thought of it quickly turns into something he craves. Something he was deprived of for 10 months. Mingi’s hands that were on her waist shift lower down her sides, while she pulls him closer and deeper into the kiss. She thinks they’re getting lost in it. Mingi is definitely lost, though, not in the kiss.

All he thinks about is how your waist feels when he slowly touches her up, and his cock strains against his jeans when he thinks of the way you would moan in his mouth, while your hands run all over him, and how you’d edge him slowly with your hands around his cock while you make him melt against your lips. He’d always pull back breathless and desperate. Always.

His eyes slowly open when she pulls back.

Fuck.

Mingi feels guilty. It’s as if he’s doing something wrong to you. It’s driving him fucking nuts that he can’t see you, and the worst part of it all is that it was his fault. So damn fucked up that he was the one who initiated to stop whatever the two of you had.

“Mingi”, she calls out and his attention snaps back to her. This is his third date with this chick he met online, but for some reason, she simply looks like a stranger. Her fingers tap along his jaw.

“Should we go your place or mine?” She asks as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

Mingi doesn’t even realise he’s half hard. But she probably did. He weighs his decisions. And then he realises he really wants to fuck.

But fuck her? He’s hesitant. He obviously has someone else in mind.

“Not today. I have plans early tomorrow”, he lies. She’s about to pout and try to convince him, until she’s interrupted by Mingi’s phone buzzing in his pants.

“Sorry, give me a moment”, he pauses to take the call. He puts his cell to his ear and his breath is stuck in his throat when he hears who’s at the other end of the line.

“Yunho…? Could you pick me up?”

Mingi blinks. The fact that you broke the no contact meant that you never blocked him even though you said you would. His heart is racing in his ears.

“Hello? Yunho? Are you there?”

It makes him snap out his trance a little.

“Yeah. Where are you at?”

“Uhh, the family mart near xxx club. I’m tryna sober up.”

You’re near. It’s not too far away.

“Okay. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks. Oh, and don’t tell Mingi.”

That’s all you say before you hang up on him. He’s still in disbelief. No, wait, maybe it’s a chance. He glances down at the girl, who’s starting to look impatient.

“Uh. Something just came up. I’m sorry we had to cut this short but it’s kind of an emergency.”

That’s when Mingi realises he’s a fucking terrible liar.

She rolls her eyes, evidently annoyed at the interference. Mingi doesn’t even let her respond before he nods quickly and disappears into the crowd and out of the club. He knows that this will have repercussions, but it’s one he’s willing to risk.

There you are. Still looking absolutely breathtaking even when you’re trying to keep yourself together despite the alcohol. It was as if the 10 months never happened. He’s breathless from almost sprinting to where you were at.

He stands before you, watching the way you’re scrolling through your phone mindlessly, the light from the screen illuminating the tear stains on your cheeks. Were you crying? He takes a breath, wondering how you’d react to seeing him after 10, long, agonising months.

“Y/n.”

Your eyebrows scrunch for a second at the familiar husky voice. You look up, and your mind blanks out when you see Mingi standing right before you.

“Mingi? What the fuck are you doing here? Did Yuyu send you here? Fucking son of a-“

“It wasn’t Yunho,” Mingi cuts you off. “It was me who you called.”

You blink slowly at him, processing what he just said before narrowing your eyes at him.

“There’s no fucking way. I’m pretty sure I blocked you”, you reply with a frown, before opening your call logs, scrolling through and your frown is replaced quickly with wide eyes and disbelief.

Goddamn, did you sober up quick after that. You glance back at Mingi, who has an unreadable expression on his face. You cover your face with your hands, feeling your face flush, but definitely not from the alcohol this time.

Mingi takes a seat beside you, leaning forward towards you. His heart is racing as fast as a race car right now. It’s been forever since he’s this close to you.

“Ugh. This is so embarrassing”, you mutter in your hands before you drop them to your lap.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about”, he assures, which only makes you more flustered and borderline irritated.

“You could have called Yunho. You didn’t have to come”, you jab, not wanting to look at him, because he’s staring at you so intently. To Mingi, at least, you’re like home. The relationship you both had no label, all because he was so fucking foolish for thinking it would never be more than what it was.

He was wrong, clearly, because now he’s here beside you, and he wouldn’t ask for anything else.

He’s determined.

Determined to make things right, at least.

“I was the one who you called, not Yunho,” Mingi replies, unwavering.

“It was a mistake”, you sigh, feeling the tears pool around your eyes. Even though Mingi is the last person on earth you wanted to see now, you can’t help but crave for him.

“No it wasn’t. Do you know what’s an actual mistake?” Mingi retorts back. His back is straightened, and he wears a frown.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. Probably coming over? Probably seeing you again? Probably you? You remember how it started like it was fresh from yesterday—it started when he had trapped you on the couch, his tall frame looming over yours when he was trying to get back at you for teasing him.

Like a spark, it ignited bright and burned like a forest fire. So intense that you couldn’t get him out of your system. You pretended you were okay with the arrangement even though the flames were burning through your feelings too. Everything about it was so addicting. If this was forest fire, you were the moth. Until three months later, he suddenly called it off.

“We should stop. I’m not sure what I want right now.”

You shut your eyes and your head spins. “What?”

Mingi swallows hard before his words leave his mouth, “whatever I said 10 months ago. That was a mistake.”

You scrunch your eyebrows, staring at Mingi. And it was a fucking mistake. He’s looking at you with those fucking puppy eyes he knows you’re weak for. Well, now you’re completely sober. But you don’t follow. Why the fuck is he telling you all of this now?

“Elaborate”, you challenge, facing the male.

Mingi covers it up very well but you can tell that he’s getting nervous and flustered.

“Calling it off. It was a mistake,” he answers, his fists balling.

You scoff, even though your heart is bursting. No, you’re not surrendering to him. Not yet. “You’re telling me this now? Weren’t you seeing someone?”

“Was”, he replies a little too quickly, a little too enthusiastically. “Then you called.”

There is a drawn out silence between the both of you momentarily.

“Let’s go. I’ll bring you home, y/n.”

You stare at him for a moment as another load of silence follows. You know it’s a bad idea. You know you shouldn’t let him in again.

Mingi seems to pick up on your concern and distance, and especially your coldness. “I won’t do anything to you. I promise. I’ll leave if you want me to. But it’s not safe for you to just be alone here.”

You know he’s right. He may be an asshole for doing what he did but at least you know Mingi is a man of his word.

His hand is outstretched towards you, and you hesitantly let your fingers graze against his palm. Mingi swears he feels electricity shoot down his spine just from your touch, and a simple one—just a soft brush of your fingers has him ready to be on his knees for you.

You let go quickly when you regain composure and follow Mingi to his car.

The ride back is quiet, much to your relief, letting you sober up as you let the cold night wind brush along your cheeks. What you don’t realise is the amount of glances Mingi casts you when he stops at the red light, and he sees the soft glow of your tear stains.

Mingi pulls over, and as before you could unbuckle the seatbelt with your own two hands, Mingi’s big frame looks over you, his face inches away from you. His gaze catches yours and you hold a breath, expecting him to do something.

Which he does—unbuckle your seat.

In truth, Mingi really wants to kiss you. So bad. To feel you up. He’s so starved it’s insane how he survived ten whole months after foolishly breaking off something that shouldn’t even mean anything. Something that was just simply casual.

“I won’t lay a finger on you if you don’t want me to”, Mingi reminds you as he pulls the car door open for you to leave.

At your doorstep, he doesn’t leave just yet though. He haphazardly dumps his keys onto the little tray you have to hold yours. You don’t say anything. After all, this place was once where he resided with you. He knew it like the back of his hand.

Just like you.

It’s a hard feeling to shake, you think. The familiarity rushes back to you, as if the 10 months never happened. You wish it didn’t.

You push past him and he watches you (thankfully) walk a straight line towards your bathroom. He lets you freshen up, and tells himself he won’t stay for too long—just long enough to make sure you’re alright and going to sleep in peace. He shuts his eyes for a while, letting the soft, cold blows of the air conditioner prick his cheeks.

You step out of the shower, and you see him sprawled on the couch, his slow breaths heavy and steady. Despite every bone in your body telling you not to, you take a seat beside him. He stirs slightly before his sleepy eyes meet yours, barely open before he turns away, combing back his hair.

“You shouldn’t drive if you’re tired, Mingi”, you say. “Go take a shower. I’ll pass you your clothes.”

A prick blooms at the corner of your heart when you say that. You never had the courage to contact Mingi to return his clothes when he was staying over. You were sure you had your clothes kept at his place too. Mingi nods as he leaves for the bathroom, leaving you with your web of thoughts. The resentment was boiling whenever you thought about it, and especially when you are in your room, pulling out the lowest drawer and reluctantly reaching out to feel the fabric that Song Mingi wore, some you wore too and you knew he loved it when you did that.

How did you let him lure you into a situation ship like this?

You dump his clothes onto the counter and climb onto your bed. There was no awkwardness, just tension, and a lot of unspoken words. Words that you were determined to pull out of him so you could finally move on in peace.

There he was, leaving the shower looking like a whole new person. His eyes look a lot softer now, accompanying his damp hair when he has his make up removed. He doesn’t get on the bed.

“What are you trying to get at, Song Mingi?” You question, your eyes darting to him, your fingers tugging each other in anxiety. “We weren’t anything to begin with.”

Mingi presses his lips before he speaks, making sure he doesn’t say it wrongly. “I’m not over you.”

He says it with such distinction that you’re almost taken aback. He catches your confused gaze. But he continues.

“I can’t move on.”

You only scoff. “And that’s my problem, because?”

It’s only then he slowly inches towards you, and you’ve never seen it before in his eyes—desperation?

But you hate that you’re feeling the exact same way. Deep inside you wonder if things could go back to the way they were.

“No. That’s my problem, y/n.” Mingi responds, his finger nervously pinching against the bedsheets. “I’m still hung up over you even after all of this.”

It’s a trap. A trap so big and obvious that a bear could fucking see it from a mile away.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was immature and confused about where that would have gone”, he sighs. “Especially during all the days you’d spend with me. And before I realised what I had done, I had already fallen for you, so hard.”

Your eyes narrow.

“Coward”, you spit, knowing you were in the exact predicament, for a spilt second, on the end of being foolish—thinking that it had meant something to him.

His fingers brushed against yours, his eyes wandering to your figure as more tears stream down your face. Why were you even crying again? He’s obviously playing around with you.

Mingi is on the bed now, inches away from you, his hands gently lifting your face, his thumbs brushing away the burning tears.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you. Out of every mistake I’ve made with you, this was the worst.”

You’re lured into his pretty eyes again, like a puppy begging for forgiveness. You grow so weak every time. You press the side of your cheek onto Mingi’s large and warm hands, the comfort of it never once foreign to you. He brushes his thumb against your cheek.

And Mingi then decides to just throw all of his cards in, his heart like sledgehammer as he lets those words slip from his lips.

“Tell me you want me”, Mingi whispers, his fingertips brushing against your neck to hold your gaze with his—so intense, so overwhelming. “And I’ll be yours.”

Such an obvious trap.

“I want you”, you whisper back, looking at him through your wet lashes.

Mingi feels his heart pounding and fireworks explode in his head. He was ready for you to push his hands away, chase him out, tell him you never want to see him again.

Mingi glances down at your lips and then back into your eyes, before you shut yours and let him completely trap you. Rash decision, stupid decision — your mind is screaming at you while you’re tasting the memories Mingi left you in his kiss. His hands slide down your back, letting lie down properly onto the bed. He pauses in to take in the sight of you—so endearing and gentle. He feels that he should be jailed for wanting to ruin it all and keep it for himself. The thought that no other men could have you like this comforts him, for now, at least.

Mingi tugs against your nightwear, lifting it over your head in one swift gesture before he’s back to kissing you with much desperation. There it is. Your taste. The only one that matters for the rest of his life. His cravings will never be satisfied. If it’s you, he wants more, more, more.

He pulls back, watching the way you’re so flushed and gorgeous. He turns you around, letting your shoulder hit his chest and he presses against you, his erection enough to convey how he feels, that’s for sure.

His fingers brush so lightly against your shoulders, the electric running down your back until he reaches your waist.

“I love you. I adore you”, he hums into your ear, melting every and any sense of rationale that remained in you, no answer but soft whimpers escape your lips as he kisses the nape of your neck to your shoulders, his fingers wet with spit, rolling your nipples in between them. Jagged breaths are the only thing that barely keep you intact for now, before your head is on his shoulder, begging for him.

“It’s been awhile. Don’t you think that’ll be a tight fit, baby?” Mingi questions, his boxers now off and his cock pressing hard against your ass.

You squeeze your thighs in response at the thought of his cock just splitting you open like before. It’s so tempting.

You feel something press against your wet folds, and it’s his fingers. Mingi’s free hand coaxes your thighs to open up and relax for him as his fingers slip right into your sopping cunt, and you gasp. Mingi’s arm snakes around your waist, and one of your opened leg is trapped by Mingi—he’s making sure you don’t close, not until he makes you cream and scream everywhere. You palm against his bare erection, pumping him so painfully slow for the sake of listening to his low, breathy groans right in your ear. He never fails to tell you how much he loves it—when you flick your wrist teasingly at make sure he hears the wet squelching sounds. But for now, your concentration is everywhere, especially when Mingi is stuffing you full with two of his fingers, brushing teasingly against the spongy spot he knows that drives you up the wall.

Your eyes flutter open, completely letting go of his cock. “M-Mingi”, you squeal when his fingers not only curl against the spongy area, but also repetitively fucks your pretty hole stupid, cream completely staining his fingers as it only lubes your clit for him to rub his finger on. Your mind is in a haze, only the thought of letting Mingi finger fuck an orgasm out of you prominent.

So good that you try to wipe the drool seeping past your lips. The feeling builds up so quickly, Mingi notices the way you’re clenching around your fingers. The way you’re grabbing onto his arm and pressing your face into his neck, telling him, “cumming. I’m cumming, Mingi. Fuck me”, was enough for him to pull his fingers out, and stuff his cock in—while you were still mid orgasm, clenching and fluttering with his cock in you. Mingi has his eyes rolled back at the sensation of you just clenching around him, giving your clit wet circular movements to send you over the fucking moon. You’re barely down from your high, panting when you realise that Mingi is inching himself inside you.

Your breath is stuck in your throat when his cock is fully in you, all the way to the brim. Mingi sighs in pleasure—this is what he loves. This is the familiarity he could never get tired of—or rather—crave so fucking badly.

Your mind had completely been melted. Sex with Mingi was always so mind blowing. You hate to swear that you would never get enough. His cock is so big and you love how well he fits into you, and his comments of, “fit me so fucking good, baby. I think if I move I’ll just cum”, as he hisses and forces himself to hold back for bursting.

Mingi’s fingers press against your jaw, your attention seeping back to him. He looks at you lovingly before he watches your face contort with pleasure the moment he pulls back, then fucks you with a thrust.

“You don’t know how much I want you”, he whines, even with his cock just pounding into you from below. “I promise I’ll treat you better. Love you better. Fuck you better.”

You’d let Mingi do whatever he wanted with you. That’s the honest fucking truth. You know you were gonna regret this. Everything is screaming at you at one moment and then completely muted when Mingi’s husky voice lulls you over.

“That’s my good girl. Oh god. You’re good at taking my cock.”

Heaven would jealous at how good you’re feeling being fucked by Song Mingi.

You tremble slightly, more tears pooling at the corner of eyes. Not from sadness or melancholy. The only kind that Mingi is able to pull out from you when his cock is deep inside you.

“It’s okay. That’s a good girl. Let it go for me”, he hums into your ear, his arms holding you down despite the fact that your orgasm is hitting you in waves, spots of white bursting into your eyelids as you feel tour cunt convulse against Mingi’s cock, cream just gathering at the base of his dick as he still continues to jut his cock right into you, sending your legs shaking with pleasure. He swears he wants to record your orgasms and seal it somewhere where only he can access it. He could get addicted.

His thrusts turn more desperate. The loud sounds of wet cock fucking a wet pussy echoing around the walls while you’re crying Mingi’s name.

“That’s a good princess”, he assures, rubbing your thighs, even though sticky with fluids before he thrusts himself right into you for the final time, your legs trembling.

“So much. Mingi, that’s so much”, you swallow hard as you feel him pump his cum right into you. Even that feels so fucking heavenly.

“It’s all for you, princess. We can keep going. I’ll always have more for you. So much that it’ll leak out of your pretty hole for days on end”, he utters so softly in your ear. Your eyes are still glazed from the mind-numbing pleasure. The last thing you could remember was a kiss planted on your forehead before a muffled “Goodnight”, before you completely doze off, your worries saved for the next day.

Morning kicks in, and your eyes are barely able to open, the exhaustion weighing on you from the previous night, so does the realisation. Fuck. You rise up, your hand on your forehead. Then you realise another thing—the other half of your bed is empty. You reach out to your phone on the nightstand—no messages either. Frustration builds in your body. But this time, it was your own foolishness to blame you think to yourself, as you slide off the bed, the soreness of your lower body a burning reminder of what transpired the night before. Instead of the bitterness that lingers in your mouth, you wonder if that should have been your closure.

Freshened up, you walk to your kitchen area to grab a meal, and your eyes widen.

Mingi stands there, pulling the plastic cover off. He pauses briefly when his eyes meet yours.

“Hey. Good morning”, Mingi greets, his morning voice dropping an octave lower. He seems completely fine, as long as you aren’t able to hear his heartbeat going at miles per hour. Would you just chase him out? Would you promise to never see him again? His mouth is dry again, even though he’s had a couple of glasses of water thinking about what to say to you.

“I bought takeout. Come and have some”, he gestures. You don’t question it, taking the seat across him. You follow his movements—the way he settles the utensils—handing you yours first, before he pours you a cup of water. Then he sits himself comfortably.

There is another moment of silence before you speak up.

“About last night…”

You see the grip on his chopsticks tighten.

“Wasn’t a mistake either”, he says, his gaze trailing the food before he meets yours.

“Is it?” You reply, shoving a couple of egg rolls into your mouth. You didn’t expect that answer from him.

“I thought I could move on. But no matter how many girls I came across, it was always you. No one felt as right as you did. I was scared before, but I’m not now.”

You can’t meet his eyes. You’re unsure if it’s because of swirl of emotions that have started bubbling, or because you’ve denied it for so long, that it’s beginning to slowly bleed out.

“Let me make it up to you. For the 10 months”, Mingi professes. “If you’ll have me.”

You finally are able to hold his gaze. Your mind is swimming is dopamine, but you’re not about to let him have the satisfaction, just yet. A small smile curls at the corner of your lips.

“Then you better do a good job.”

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #smut #ateez fic #kpop smut #song mingi #mingi x y/n #song mingi smut #ateez mingi #mingi ateez #mingi x reader #mingi smut #mingi

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neetily · 4 months ago

Note

hi!! can I please ask for sweet boyfriend Sam on the farmer's birthday? <3 how will he wish them a happy birthday and how will they spend the day? sfw and maybe nsfw both! thank u so much

since you asked for both SFW and NSFW, i'm taking this as a HC request instead of a drabble request :D...

warnings: nothing! just sam being sweet. wc: 971

SFW Birthday HC'S

i'm gonna be honest here, i think there's a high likelihood of him just straight up forgetting your birthday. he's very forgetful, goes in one ear and out the other! he would, of course, be suuuuuper apologetic about it though and plan to do things with you another day

but on the off chance that he doesn't forget...

i think he'd start the day off with something romantic... like breakfast in bed! something about how he remembers doing it a lot when he was younger, and kent would wake him up early on jodi's birthday to make her favourite foods... and he's all too happy to do the same for you! spends all night the night before making sure the kitchen is prepared for him just waking up !!! with all of your favs... he made sure to make note of them on his phone

he'd have a whooooole day planned out for you! anything you want, literally. it's your day, and he's at your beck and call regardless of what you wanna suggest!

though he does have the mind to pre-plan a little in the event that you decide to leave it up to him... i think maybe sebastian would help him out a little here too, only because sam is so busy stressing about making your day as perfect as possible— seb helps keep him in check!

his plans are as follows...

after breakfast in bed, he practically forces you into the shower with him so that he can freshen up with you. after all, there's a big day ahead! i like to think that if you don't just want a nice cosy evening in, he'd pack the whole day full of things to do together!! and it starts with a double shower <3...

whatever your main hobby is, he'd like to spend the morning/afternoon indulging in it together. drawing, painting, reading, gaming, knitting, hiking— whatever it may be, even if he sucks at it. all that matters to him is that you love it, and he's more than willing to act the fool to make sure you have the best day possible!!

he likes the idea of relaxing by watching a movie or two together too, especially at the cinema! a nice little treat together, but he's paying for everything !!! count it as an extension of his gift for you, which he's adamant that you won't get until later on that night!! and of course, the movie is your choice too, he's just happy to be along for the ride <3

and to top it all off, he takes you out for dinner! maybe in the city, where he'd book a nice hotel for you both too for the night. but at the saloon is nice enough too, maybe he changes it every year. just something special and one off, somewhere where you can really go all out on his expense. he just wants to treat you right, the way you deserve <3

then when night comes, that's when he lets you open his gift. and i think despite how forgetful he can be at times, he's actually a really got gift giver, even just based off vibes. either that, or he's stalking your interests a week before so that he can work out exactly what it is you'd like as a gift!! regardless, he wraps it all up by himself (as in: it's badly wrapped lmfao) and eagerly watches for your reaction!!!

also also i think he would make you a special birthday bath or something. he wouldn't join you, but after such an exhausting day of doing THINGS, he'd give you space and time to decompress in a perfectly vibed bath

(i can imagine him being passed out in bed by the time you get out LOL... tired himself out too

NSFW Birthday HC'S

birthday sex is such a cheesy idea, which is exactly why sam is so into it... of course, it's not absolutely necessary to do, but he enjoys the special event just a little more than usual i think.

he wants to, more than anything, keep things new and exciting for you— especially on your birthday! so if you have anything that he's yet to try, then this is the day he'll suggest doing it!

and i can see him either wanting to do it as soon as you get up, because oh my god he just loves you so much and he can barely contain just how much he loves you and he NEEDS YOU RIGHT THIS INSTANT or else he feels like he's gonna explode !!!!

or, he lets the tension simmer aaaaaaaall day and night long. loving and doting on you from the moment you wake up, right through until he has you under the sheets and he can prolong your bday celebrations into the AM hehe.....

he'd be so extra loving i think. lots and lots of kisses everywhere, drooling over every part of you that you allow him access to

would love to spend all night long servicing you. like forget about how hard his cock is and instead, let him eat you out for a good hour or so !!! let him finger you casually while you talk about how much fun you hand during the day!! let him suck on your titties idly while you hump his cock to your hearts content. like this is your night, you can use him however you want.

and and and !!! he would do his best to last as long as possible for you extra hard on your birthday so as to give you the best experience possible :^(... he'd struggle lmfao, but it's the trying that counts, right?

multiple loads if he can. that's all.

#babble👁️‍🗨️#i didn't re-read this hehe hope it makes sense :D #sdv smut #sdv x reader #stardew valley smut #stardew valley x reader #sdv sam smut #stardew valley sam smut

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anzulvr · 1 year ago

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OMG YOUR WORKS ARE SO AWOOGA I CANT STOP 😭 can I request karma x reader too with a s/o that cries with a straight face and cries whenever they're seething in anger, if I tried to say smth while I'm sad then the straight face just dissolves into a mess 🤠 maybe a part where Karma makes them cry im both ways and another part someone in class makes them cry, ty if you can (> <)!!

Karma x Reader who cries out of Anger. Sorry for being late (again!!), Ily your typing is so fun😭 thank you for requesting!ASSASSINATION CLASSROOM SPOILERS ꒱

Karma is too straightforward, he makes insensitive jokes, he isn’t the most emotionally mature person and he can be pushier than most. So when you’re sitting beside him, holding back tears, he doesn’t know which one of his traits drove you to this point.

The worst part is you refuse to answer when he asks, instead opting for looking the other direction or giving him a scowled expression. He racked his brain, you guys went to school, were perfectly fine, came back and now you’re angry.

“[Name] why have you been mad at me all day? And don’t say you’re not, you keep a straight face whenever you are.”

He pries and pries until you finally blow up on him.

“So you can just throw yourself off a mountain for an assassination attempt without a second thought and expect me not to care?”

“I’m fine aren’t I? That was the best idea I could come up with, I don’t know how I could top it.” He says like he’s disappointed in the fact it failed.

“You don’t see the problem? Seriously?”

“If somebody doesn’t kill him, everyone is going to die- you’re gonna die, did you expect me to not try my ideas??”

“I didn’t expect you to try to off yourself in the process.”

“It’s not about my life it’s about yours, I’m not letting you die.”

“How am I supposed to live if you’re dead?!” Your voice only gets louder.

“How am I supposed to live if you die because I was too scared to try something?!” Karma replies matching your tone.

“Tell me you won’t try anything like that again.”

He looks at the floor not wanting to face you.

You press further “If you die over this, I’ll die with you.”

The tears stream down your face, you do your best to keep your blank expression.

He can’t be the reason you get hurt, he knows you know that much. “It won’t come to that, we’ll assassinate him together.”

୨୧

If the reason for your tears is someone else the way Karma reacts is a unique depending on the person.

If Teraska makes you cry Karma going to instigate until Terasaka gets pissed off enough to fight him.

“Making [Name] cry? No wonder you’ve gotten rejected by every girl you’ve shown interest in.”

“Ya don’t know anything- stop shoving your head in other peoples business.”

“[Names] business is mine too, if you don’t like that you can fight me over it.”

“Tch..” Terasaka looks away in annoyance

“What? You scared?” Karma isn’t giving up until Terasaka throws a punch and looses.

If Maehara and Okajima are the culprits, Karmas exposing their embarrassing secrets to the class.

“I know you two aren’t the brightest… but I’d think you’d know not to bother [Name].”

Unlike Terasaka they’re not willing to take their chances against Karma, they know it’s too late making you cry is a death wish.

“Hear us out- we weren’t trying to offend anyone we just-”

Karma doesn’t let them finish their sentence before he says “You know what I think is so funny, I found this crazy video of you guys.”

“Wait huh?”

“It’s not loading right now, I’ll post it on my story later so you two know what I’m talking about!”

“Please don’t! What even is it?!”

It’s a video of the time they tried a contemporary dance class to impress some girls and ended up tripping on each other and fighting, they kept slipping with every punch, needless to say they’re prohibited from going back.

If Korosenseis work load is what’s making you upset he’s going to guilt trip him until he agrees to excuse your assignments, “You call yourself a teacher? Poor [Name] is stressed out and you don’t care.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pressure anyone that’s the opposite of what I want to do!! [Name] I’ll give you an extension.”

“Just an extension after what you did? [Name] is humiliated after crying infront of everyone and that’s the solution?”

“It wasn’t that bad…” You felt better and you tried talking yourself out of it but he kept going.

“I say you excuse the assignment and let [name] rest. You’re so cruel… making your student hate school.” He knows exactly where to hit, Korosensei is sensitive enough to make that easy, he would never forgive himself if he burnt out his students.

“Okay [Name] you’re excused for the project. Please, forgive me!” Korosensei is the one crying now, but at least you don’t have to worry about the assignment anymore. The rest of the class starts complaining about it too in hopes to get it excused themselves.

#karma x reader #karma akabane x reader #akabane x reader #akabane karma #ansatsu kyoushitsu x reader #reader x karma #karma akabane #karma akabane x you #korosensei #eclass #assasination classroom #akabane karma x reader #assassination classroom x reader #assassination classroom

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masked-speaker88 · 2 months ago

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I have never done a request before, but can you do #4 prompt from the valentine's day list? Byakuya Kuchiki x Reader

Please and thank you!

Anon: Byakuya will always have this noble beauty about him, but i struggled thinking of how to unwrap his personality for this. He has many many layers, and to me many fears. I would be willing to do a more romantic second part to this, if you would like!

"Second Chance at Love" Part 1

Y/n sat in front of Byakuya's desk, watching him read the document, signing and making notes every few minutes. The stoic captain was doing his best to ignore her looks of admiration and curiosity she kept giving him. She knew she was gonna get on his nerves if she kept staring but she couldn't help it as she curled up into the chair. He just looked so pretty sitting there, with his black hair falling into his face.

"Don't you have anything better to do then to stare at me?" Byakuya finally retorted looking up at Y/n. Her cheeks flushed as her lips parted gently. She wasn't expecting to snap already.

"Not really. Besides, I'm not hurting anyone." She whispered, knees to her chest as she sat side ways in the chair in front of his desk. Her cheeks still flushed as she pushed her hair from her face. Byakuya just gave her an annoyed, yet stern look.

"Maybe so, but it is annoying." He rolled his eyes looking back down at his paperwork. He was trying to read, but her presence was staying to irk him. Her heart ached a little at his annoyance. She just wanted to be close to him.

She didn't make a gesture to move. She continued to watch him, a sadness in her eyes. She had fallen for him, the man who hid his emotions to never be hurt again. She knew that when he younger he was married to a homeless girl, one from the streets. It was frowned upon with him being of noble birth. Yet he fought his clans rules and beliefs just to be with her. However, all that fight was barely worth since she died early on in the marriage. Y/n let out a ragged sigh, turning to look at the wall. Why did she have to fall for the man who's heart belonged to the grave?

"I'm not even doing anything wrong.." Her voice was whispered, as her eyes shut a minute thinking on what to say or even how to say it.

"Your presence is enough of an issue for me." His voice was blunt void of emotion, as he signed another paper. Y/n could fell the tears prick her eyes. Why would she annoy him so much he didn't want her around?

"Don't be a jerk.." She whispered, "I have done nothing to you to receive such rudeness."

"Excuse me?" His eyes shot up to her in a glare. "Who do you think you are talking to me like that? I am a captain, and you will respect me as such." Y/n looked taken aback by the glare, her mouth parting and her own emotions starting to get the better of her.

"Respect... You don't think I respect you?" She stood up, slamming her hands on his desk making him glare harder. He looked like he was about to burst when she kept talking. "There's not a person one in the seireitei that I respect more. You own my respect and my heart even if you've never gave me a reason to think you'd ever return either!" She yelled making his mouth drop.

"You can't possibly mean that! You know nothing about me!" He hissed standing up, his own hands coming down as he leaned over to be face to face with her.

"I know plenty of things about you!" She was bucking up, her stubborn side coming out to play as she grabbed his jaw. " I know you love night time walks because its just you and the stars. No one around to bother you. You like spicy foods, and bananas. I know you dislike sweets. I know you are a widow, I know that we have something!"

He glared hard, jerking away from her with a hiss. "How could you possibly know any of that?"

"Because I spend every free moment I have seeking you out, wanting to be near you! I have wasted so much time trailing after like a little puppy just for you to ignore me." She pulled back from his desk arms crossing.

"I never asked you to." His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, unspoken emotions in his eyes. "Matter of fact I don't even want you around!"

Hurt flashed across her eyes, a frown on her lips. "Byakuya... Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel anything for me..." Her heart ached as the words left her lips. She didn't know if she wanted his answer, as she met his gaze.

Byakuya looked stoic as usually, before something unreadable flashed across his face. "I think you need to leave."

Y/n felt a pain in her heart, tears in her eyes. "I will... But know that I have fallen for the man behind the mask... I don't want your noble title, don't want your captains title, don't want your money, or your beauty... I want the damaged man who longs to be loved like he was once before. I want the man who has started to let his emotions out finally, after years of hiding them to keep from getting hurt. I want you.." She left him shocked and taken aback as she headed out the door. Y/n slammed the door walking away as tears flowed down her cheeks. She knew the man she fell for, and knew that there was always a possibility he would never love her back.

Time-skip: A few weeks later.

Y/n had been avoiding Byakuya like he was the plague that would end her life. And in that moment, she was starting to believe he was. She had laid her feeling out like a feast and felt rejected.

Byakuya on the other hand, was just starting to notice the loneliness that seemed to plague certain moments in his life. He was noticing that when he did paperwork now, there was no one to get annoyed at for starring. He was noticing that when he took walks, there was no one there butting in and walking with him despite his complaints. There was no one to bring him random assortments of spicy food, or new pens for calligraphy. All of these things he found annoying before, but now that Y/n wasn't doing them anymore, he missed it. He would find himself wondering where she was or what she was doing. And a part of him blamed those around him for slowly making perceptive enough to even acknowledge that he he felt something. Something small that could not be named.

Eventually he sought Y/n out, finding her sitting under the Sakura trees on the edge of the Kuchiki property. He knew she liked them, though he still refused to admit to anything.

"Are you done acting like a child and ignoring me?" His tone blunt, as he looked down at Y/N.

"Excuse me? A child?" She glared up. "I'm not the one who got mad and kicked someone out of their office before they didn't feel like acknowledging their own emotions." Byakuya's eyebrow twitched as he sat next to her. He didn't say anything for a while. Y/n kept glancing at him. "You missed me." She noted, not looking for him to accept or deny the information.

Byakuya was quiet a few more minutes. "Its more quiet without you around." He noted.

Y/n nodded slowly knowing that was as close to an admission as she would get from him. "I understand... Byakuya, we do have something don't we?"

He sighed gently, "Sometimes things happen that we can't control." His fingers gently rested against hers. He wasn't ready to commit, but he was willing to allow her to be near him. Byakuya felt something for her, but he didn't know if he was ready for it yet.

"This is true..." Y/n whispered curling her fingers into his, staring up at the trees. She knew that it would take time before he would be willing to give her what she wanted, but for him she was willing to wait.

#bleach #maskedtalk #bleach tybw #asks #byakuya kuchiki #kuchiki byakuya #ichigo kurosaki #kurosaki ichigo #byakuya x reader #byakuya kuchiki x reader #byakuya

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sevenop · 8 months ago

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lot I just saw about the requests!! How exciting, I can't think of anything compared to your imagination... I can only think of one in which we live Billie's figure with her... you already know the photo sessions, her meetings with fans, the first concert and its celebration. !!..

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: I'm to follow with your soul

A/n: What about text without dialogs?.. It was quite entertaining, and yes, I've strayed quite a bit from the request, but I hope you enjoy it, anon. Please let me know when you get a chance.

Hidden by a cloth mask and a soft hoodie, Eilish enters the room carefully, trying to be inconspicuous in her black, not at all flashy clothes, and everyone is almost immediately swept off their feet, as if it were the fault of a hurricane suddenly raging in the middle of the huge waiting room. You smile from across the room, completely used to it. You lean your back relaxed against the concrete wall painted a calm milky white while Billie arms every her fans with tact and friendliness, being herself surrounded by a crowd of people hungry for her attention. Eager for her. They're having a blast, and you smile so calmly, as if you're on a desert island, somewhere so far away and out of reach of everything in the world. Eilish is like a chess king - in the very epicenter of the field, under the reliable guardianship of the guards, who are like brave pawns and rooks pushing back the especially insistent, who breaking the boundaries of her propriety and privacy, but you still feel a light, tickling under your ribs bright blue feather of excitement, even though outwardly it's not visible. Outwardly, you put on your face the most elegant, partly truthful mask, behind which no one can see this pile and confusion inside you, so eager to break out. And everyone believes it. Everyone except her.

The metronome of thoughts clicking from side to side and stops only when she gently, gently takes your hand, intertwining your fingers securely as you sit in the cabin of an airplane flying to another continent. Eilish's blue eyes, entering into open rivalry with the blueness of the celestial horizon in the porthole to your right - piercing, sensitive to your experiences, which you hold behind seven chains, tightly, tightly. The lips outlining your knuckles, by contrast, are soft, hot, soothing. Like velvet. She says everything is fine, and you have a series of flashes and phones in front of your eyes so detailed that you think for a second that it was you, not her, who was at this epicenter of glory. Your nagging occasional worry about her and her emotional state is parried by her familiarity with such a life, which rustles on Billie's lips with a light laugh.. She pulls you out of the stream of thoughts that drags you down like the Styx: kisses you directly on the lips, catches your quiet, downed exhalation, slides the very tip of her tongue across your slightly bitten lips. She whispers that she needs you, your shared serenity, and you let go of the handrail of excitement. Again. The smile on your lips is deftly mirrored on her face before Billie rests his head cozily on your shoulder, falling quietly into slumber for the rest of the flight. O'Connell considers you her safest, most secure haven, one she's willing to nurture day after day, nurturing the blossoms of peace and confidence in your soul, and you don't mind, you're all for it. Ready to shelter her from everything in the world, giving her that rare, so humanly necessary mutual love and serenity.

You softly murmur three words of love into her ear, and Billie just snuggles even closer to you, as close as the seat and the flatness of the seatbelt will allow. Her true-coral lips hotly drop a scattering of words that make your heart flutter so high, so high that the sky doesn't even have such boundaries.

×××

Eilish is staring into the camera, and you're almost devouring yourself, wanting to become that damn, expensive lens with the green glass. Or better yet, right now you want to bite through the case of the tablet on which you're proofreading the next block of text from the interview, and lock your jaws together so that you can slice went right through, to a fine grid of chips on the display and a characteristic crunch. Because with Billie, motherfucker, Eilish, it's just impossible to be at a photo shoot, no matter how much you get used to it.. Impossibly hard burns a hole in you carnal lust and sublime aesthetic pleasure, which, by definition, and together should not be in any way, but inside you, on the contrary, mixed into the most scraggly and fiery Molotov. Eilish is the matchstick, you are so obedient and begging for the makeshift fabric "wick" that sticks out of the narrowest neck of the murky, amber-yellow bottle.

Billie puts both palms of her hands, practically fingertips to the plaid cap that covers her head in a skater's swagger, a hard visor to her right side, and you feel your lungs shudder, wanting to squeeze together in a scream like a pressurized balloon. You mutely swallow your own scream, staring back at the black, printed letters dancing in nonsense, only to stare at her again five seconds later, just for the last time. Just to feel like an elegant woodland deer running blindly into the headlights. And then she looks right at you.

She looks at you, and she doesn't even hide that assertive, confident grin of her, just raising the degree, while you stare at her like a statue. Because it's too beautiful, too hot, too natural. It's so O'Connell way alluring and trance-inducing, some kind of hypnosis of its own. Billie catches your embarrassment in a split second, when you barely a glance, not to fall, but to literally collapse into your proofreading and editing screen like an angel fallen from heaven. She waves her palm to the photographer, and therefore to the entire set crew, demanding a break, and she doesn't give a damn what they might think of her, what they already think. She walks toward you with a swift, imperious gait and she doesn't care. She grabs you by the waist in a bossy way, not forgetting the some tenderness inherent in her nature, and sneaks you into her dressing room, slamming the door shut, seemingly too loudly, but she's really indifferent. She tosses your clipboard, which you're prayerfully clutching, to her dressing table, and clutches you right in front of the same mirror, whispering fervently and seductively into your neck, her hands going under your shirt. Because she doesn't give a fuck. She wants you and you want her. And this reciprocity, this your unique gaze no one else, ready to stare at her forever, is more than enough. Her hoarse soprano whispers velvet "I want you" interspersed with "I love you" and it's enough for you, too.

Billie touches the fly of your dark jeans with her impatient fingers, "burns" the skin of your thighs with the silver of her rings, and you allow her everything, because you want it too. Because you love her.

×××

There is something particularly intimate about your life with Billie - your emotions, which you often hide from everyone, covering yourself with a safe smile like "lock", the "key" to which only she has, and the fact that she "steals" your clothes, often wearing them not only when you two are alone, but also when she go out in public. The second one works both for you and for you, because her closet - a priori completely yours, and your things forever smelled her warm, woody-vanilla scent, especially sharply imprinted on the collars, and it only soothes, protects, reminds of her. And one day these moments clash into one, the most special for you two.

You walk around your office in a restless whirlwind, unable to find such a necessary lunchtime calm, blazing with selective anger, absolutely uninhibited and unconstrained by the limits of censored and uncensored language, swing so much that the thin fabric of your paper-white, and like ink-stained shirt, so amusingly resembling a newspaper (a clever gift from Billie) swells up, rises up over and over again, almost extending beyond the line of your sturdy belt and the ridge of the waistband of your darkness pants. The censor clutches the magazine with sweaty palms, rustling the colorful gloss, shaking like a leaf, and you seem ready to kill. The veins in your neck are roiling from the flames of aggression, so conspicuous by the lack of the first buttoned button of your collar, and the poor guy swallows tightly as you repeatedly hissing "compliments" for him through your teeth. The mistake he rudely overlooked in print has given you headaches for days and provided the cell phone company with the lion's share of the profits - you're hanging on to several international calls at once, hopping from one line to another. And not even her perfume deposited on your collar calms your frantic thoughts, which is rare.

A knock on the door almost makes you hard slam your phone into the table you're leaning your hips against, eliciting a dragon-like loud, growling "request" that you not be disturbed. A second - and the coffee-dark door immediately opens fearlessly, revealing Billie. In her (your) black, space-glittering designer suit, at the ready with her serious, stinging cold endlessly permafrost blue gaze. The pearl necklace around her neck snaps tantalizingly as she points to the door with a nod to the intern, and he turns white as a sheet, shakes nervously, and tumbles, almost crawls out of the office on his knees - if only he would.

You close your fingers on the wooden surface of the desk hard and strong, trying to get your breathing back to a steady rhythm, but Billie only turns the locking mechanism on the door, disconnecting you from the rest of the world with a click, before he takes a few steps toward you and touches your face with his soft, delicate palms with slightly rough musical fingertips.

Her languid perfume hits your nose immediately, and like a concentrated dose of sedative, it travels through your blood vessels, reaching your heart, making it so warm-warm. Eilish catches the remnants of strong anger in the depths of your eyes and smiles so softly-softly, making them disappear quickly, like salt crystals in hot water. She, so specially beautiful, right off the carpet, styled and in your clothes, with sparkling silver sequins on her face and massive earrings that catch the glare of the white lamp. So beautiful and expensive. And you - so disheveled in your own fading aggression, panting. You whisper a million apologies about the defect of the upcoming issue of the magazine, and she just kisses you fervently - hotter, sweet, like the most delicious caramel. She bites your lip, demanding access, and then whispers into your mouth so swaggeringly about your sexy, hot-in-evil appearance that she get away with her ridiculous joke when she assures you that she "only wants to be on this front page", running her palms over your "newspaper" collarbones. Oh, and she gets on it! Her hickeys on your collarbones sting with fire, reminding you of themselves even under the thin fabric, and Eilish only laughs softly-softly, before settling into the chair across from you with her legs crossed in the lotus position. It's only an hour until the end of your workday, and she's here to pick you up. And to calm down, of course (but also to inflame you at home again).

×××

Billie sings and it is truly the most enchanting thing you've ever seen. Taking a place of honor backstage, you feel the waves of basses vibrating in your chest, rumbling all over the concert stage, and Billie shouts the words of new melodies into the crowd in a childish way, or musically pulls the notes, reminding the nymph herself by her charming sound, and you understand that you melt, melt from this whole contrast, from her energy, from herself. You like the way Eilish jumps, runs around the stage like an eagle, which makes her perfect earlier styling become outrageously careless, but so beloved and charismatic. I like how she languidly bends on the very floor of the stage, languidly whispering words into the microphone, than tears off the voices of thousands of spectators, and you every time become grateful to the red illumination as never before - Maggie behind it does not see your embarrassed blush, though she smiles understandingly, in a kindly sly way. But you favorite part is catching her at the end of the performances, when Billie rushes toward you, nearly leaping up a series of treacherous steps covered for a few moments by semi-darkness. She flies into your open arms with a force like a triumphant cannonball, and all you do is kiss the top of her shaggy head, clasping her in your arms, one hand holding a full, unopened bottle of water - especially for her. She laughs out loud, all sweaty and disheveled and wound up, with eyes that shine like footlights and you realize.

How much you want to follow her soul, protecting her.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader

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ama--ryllis · 9 months ago

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hi! how are you? i'm hope your doing well,

i wanted to ask for a part 2 for bllk boys with their autistic reader with isagi, kaiser, bachira and ness if thats fine! sorry if i'm asking for too much 😅

i really liked part one so i thought i might ask. :)

anyways, have a great day/night!

Hi! I'm good, good! I just managed to get out my writer's block and I this is the first request I wanted to do. I'm so happy you enjoyed the first part I'd be glad to make another one. Now I haven't watched or done blue lock content in forever, so if my HCS don't fit, please bear with me 😭 also my writing style might have changed a little lol.

Warnings: not proofread, not necessarily canon, i don't have autism so this is based off researches i have done hoping i'm using the right tools. If you can explain to me more in details i would be happy to listen and learn!

Part 1

Isagi Yoichi

I honestly think isagi is soo good at helping you when you get over/understimulated. But if you ask for space he won't hesitate to leave you alone, a very understanding sweetheart. Also a patient baby, especially when you're having troubles with relationships with him or other people. If you have communication difficulties he's totally fine being the one to talk a lot but also willing to give you the time you need to express yourself. Sometimes has a bit of trouble understanding how it feels. Overall 8/10

Bachira meguru

Now i can't do any diagnosis but you can't tell me he doesn't have adhd. Adhd x autism power couple. But honestly, bachira is a social butterfly, so if you're have communication issues or social anxiety, he is the best to take over whenever you need. Although he can be a bit invasive at time and hesitant or unaware of how to help you when you're overstimulated. He has flaws and can also have some troubles keeping up, give him a chance lol. 7/10

Micheal kaiser

Now kaiser...unlike the other positive headcanons with the others. I think he actually struggles with your autism, because of his ego and overall personality. I have a feeling he oftens overstimulates you, by accidents when he teases or talks. He also has a tendency to have relationship problems and if you do too, he isn't the best match because he's very insecure. Overall, not the best part er for an autistic significant other 3/10

Alexis Ness

Now we all know alexis is obsessive and possessive so he would actually do his best to follow your need for perfection in routine or habits. He wants to be the best so you never leave, he also tries to learn your limited interests and all of that. But..when you have meltdown (too much emotions stocked bc communications troubles) or when you're overstimulated and ask to be alone, he does not leave you alone, but not the I don't wanna leave you and wanna be there with you. No, it's the kind that just forces you to stay with him even when you don't want to, in a bad way. Can be a little scary and sometimes give you ever more trouble with communication. Downside is too heavy for him to have a good rating 4.5/10

Hope you enjoyed! I sure did enjoy writing this, has been a while since bllk content lol. I hope i'll be able to write more often! Bye bye! 😉

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lostinwildflowers · 4 months ago

Text

Welcome to my Valentine's Day Event for 2025! I've recently had the time and energy to write again, so I felt like doing a little event for the season of love.

✨✨Birch's 2025 Valentine's Day Event Masterlist✨✨

REQUESTS CLOSED // Available Slots - 1/15 (Requests will close Feb. 1st so I can get everyone's posted by Feb. 14th!)

✨The Event✨

I will be offering mini-drabbles with a prompt! This will be in the format of "x reader" and will be default she/her pronouns unless specifically requested otherwise. There is a list of prompts below, but make sure to read the whole post before making your request!

As of now, I am leaving the option for anons to request, but please only send in one request! Don't abuse the system to get more than one request written, please. I am hoping to stick around 400 words per request!

->Edited 01/26/2024 - FEEL FREE TO SEND IN MORE THAN ONE REQUEST!

✨Fandoms/Characters✨

NOTE - Feel free to ask about other characters! ...esp Ryan Gosling ones, I haven't tried writing a ton for him yet but I WOULD TRY <3

Attack On Titan

◦ Zeke Yeager, Levi Ackerman, Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun, Porco Galliard, Erwin Smith, Armin Arlert (-> Feel free to ask about others!)

My Hero Academia

◦ Keigo Takami (Hawks), Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Bakugou Katsuki, Hitoshi Shinsou

Haikyuu!!

◦ Sugawara Koshi, Sawamura Daichi, Bokuto Koutarou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, Oikawa Tooru

Top Gun

◦ Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Jake “Hangman” Seresin

The Gray Man

◦ Sierra Six

The Fall Guy

◦ Colt Seavers -> I have never written for him before but I thought it could be fun to add!

The Nice Guys

◦ Holland March -> I have never written for him before but I thought it could be fun to add!

Barbie -> I have never written for this before but I thought it could be fun to add!

◦ Ken

✨How to Request✨

Be NICE. I'm doing this because I WANT to, not because I have to!

Send me an ask with the following info BEFORE February 1st:

-The Fandom

-The Character

-The Prompt # (please choose one unless you are really convinced two together will make for some good writing :3)

-If not clear from the prompt, please let me know if you want it to be fluffy/angsty/hurt-comfort/flirty, etc.

-Also include if you want pronouns other than she/her + female anatomy b/c that is my default!

3. Wait and see what I come up with!

✨The Prompts✨

“You’ll come back. And I’ll be here.”

“Stop fighting this - us. Just let me love you. Just let me exist by your side.”

“I just want to figure you out. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.”

“You might break my heart, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

“One last time with you. I’m not asking for anything else.”

“What past? I’m here for our future.”

“I want to trust you - but I can’t. But I should - or I shouldn’t?”

“I know it sounds insane, but I can feel it when you think of me.”

“I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you!”

“This doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

“Give me another chance to make things right.”

“I promised to keep you safe, and I kept my promise. I’m done here.”

“Yes, it’s a mess but it’s our mess. We’re the only ones who can fix it.”

“This doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong either.”

“What does forever mean anyway? I’m here today. Why isn’t that enough?”

“I’m ready to die with you.”

“You meant the world to me. You still do.”

"The thing is that I don’t feel loved by you. You better prove it!”

“Do you believe in soulmates? Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

“Could you ever imagine that we’d end up like this?”

“I’m not sick of loving you. I’m sick of you not loving me.”

“You are my love. You are my home. You are everything.”

“This is not the end. See you later, my love.”

“I’m not worried. I always find my way to you - in any time, in any reality.”

“I’m angry because I know we won’t ever be.”

“You make me fall apart so easily.”

“Sharing a bed with you sounds like a silly story trope, doesn’t it?”

“Just promise me that you’ll come back when you’re done.”

“I know we just met but I feel like the two of us could get in some serious trouble.”

“Can you stop stealing my blanket?”

“I can’t wait to dream about you tonight.”

“You’re right. I should have told you that I fell in love with you.”

“I would choose you again - in a heartbeat.”

“Thanks for making my life a little less miserable.”

“I’m such a fool for you. I’m your fool.”

“You look at me like I’m your universe.”

“You are never going to let me go, are you?”

“Let’s be whatever we want to be.”

“Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”

Thank you for participating in my event :)

#ryan gosling x reader #levi ackerman x reader #zeke yeager x reader #sierra six x reader #ken x reader #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #attack on titan x reader #my hero academia x reader #haikyuu x reader #keigo takami x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #holland march x reader #colt seavers x reader

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ramblinscramblin · 6 months ago

Note

Hi!! Omg I'm the person who requested the Honeymoon Phase hcs with Sniper, and I loved it so much! He's the best.

Could I please maybe request how you think he would act after a few months into dating , or maybe a year? Just a suggestion, no pressure! Tysm :3

-🎃

→Long Term Relationship with Sniper

Genre: fluff some angst

Characters: Sniper obviously

Thanks so much for the request!!! Yk I love Sniper I’ll always write for him! Oh and for anyone who hasn’t read the original that 🎃 anon here is talking about and have an interest in doing so that’s here!

Sniper

Sniper eventually does get used to being a relationship and stops acting so awkward around you.

He may even be so bold as to actually initiate physical contact with you, who knows!

I think Sniper would not be the biggest fan of PDA, he’s a private man. While he’s happy to tell people of your relationship and show you off to everyone, anything beyond hand holding is a big no no.

Sniper just likes spending quiet quality time alone with you, after a hard day at work that’s really all he wants.

Like I said in the first post any conflict in the relationship with normally comes from Sniper being an emotional shut in. Feels ridiculous talking about his emotions and so he refuses to put himself through it.

Will bottle things up and then explode about something inconsequential causing a huge fight that’s probably “about” you closing the door too loudly but it’s really about something else.

Once he realizes how much strain it’s putting on you and your relationship he starts working to be better with it.

Feels like such an idiot every time you two fight, he loves you so much and hates when he treats you anything less than the royalty you are.

Sniper loves the idea of sharing a space with you full time, if you’re willing, he’s expressed the idea of buying a bigger camper to accommodate for another person. But in the meantime you two make do.

Snipers dates are mostly camping trips, whenever the two of you have some time to yourself Snipers takes you on some very romantic retreats.

He loves to spoil you, but he’s really nonchalant about it so he’ll never be direct and it’s done in super discreet ways.

You were digging through you bag one day talking to him “I’m not sure where I put it actually and— what is this doing in here?” You ask pulling up a fistful of cash.

Sniper appears coy suddenly and shrugs passively “oh? Who knows.”

You give him a skeptical glare “this is from you isn’t it? I told you you don’t have to do that.”

“But what if ya see somethin’ nice an’ I’m not there?” Sniper whines.

“I’ll buy it myself?” You say, Sniper protests against that idea very vehemently.

You also find many carved trinkets around your space and in your pockets out of nowhere, Sniper will think it’s just the strangest thing if you bring it up… he has no idea how that got there… how bizarre.

Feels so very lucky to be with you, just wants to keep you happy, so he’s willing to do whatever it is he has to do to get that to happen.

You’re the first serious relationship he’s ever been in, others have tried, but they weren’t as patient as you were.

One night when the two of you were alone in the darkness of the van Sniper whispered “thank you for giving me a chance.”

You say up in bed a little, trying to get a better look at him, but it was too dark to do so, of course he knew that, which is the only reason he felt confident enough to say it out loud.

You searched in the darkness for his face, finding it and rubbing your thumb along his cheekbones “you don’t have to thank me, I’m not doing charity work,” you lean forward to place a kiss next to his nose, breath tickling his face “I love you, you know that?”

His heart leaps to his throat, “yes,” he says a little wetly “yeah of course I do love.”

Things become very domestic and very uncomplicated about a year or so in, Sniper likes being with you and you like being with him, not much else is needed aside from that.

He actually makes me so sick what the hell. Thanks so much for requesting!

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petitelepus · 25 days ago

Note

If you don't close it yet, I'll make another request :3

Sanemi x female reader with the song of Belleza de cantina

https://youtu.be/4ELN57gDkrA?si=i8epbFvY3xnwc0gj (translate song)

The plot is that Sanemi and Reader have a relationship, but Sanemi still can't forget Kanae, making Reader insecure or jealous (I don't like Sanekana much, but I love ANGST).

Summary: You're so badly in love that you are willing to overlook how your beloved loved someone else.

Warnings: Angst, Sex Mentioned

A/N: Sanemi Shinazugawa, Female Reader, Kanae Kocho

You loved Sanemi Shinazugawa so much. The two of you had a rocky start, as he was mad at the whole world for one reason or another, and going out on missions with an almost suicidal attitude.

But you saw he was hurt and offered to help him feel a little less hurt. A chance he rudely dismissed... But in the end, he came to you when he couldn't bear being alone anymore.

This became a habit for both of you. He would come to you, curse and hiss about whatever there was that was pissing him off that time and you would be there for him, holding him in the end of the day, and letting him know he was still very loved...

You could tell there was someone he was thinking of when he was with you.

When he was talking with you, he would almost say another woman's name, but when the two of you shared bed and your love, he would grunt and groan that woman's name like it was her he was fucking and not you.

Kanae.

You heard from Tengen that she was Shinobu's older sister, and how, apparently, Sanemi had been in love with her, but she had passed just before he could tell her how he felt about her.

It hurt so badly, knowing that he used you, but you loved him so much that you were willing to take anything he could give to you.

Even if it meant that he would never love you the way you loved him.

You stared at Sanemi, who was focused on enjoying Ohagi, his favorite treat. You had learned to make them just the way he liked them, another way of yours to try and win him over.

"You're staring," He suddenly said, and you flinched as you averted your gaze, "I'm sorry..."

"You always say that..." He grunted as he stuffed the rest of the treat into his mouth.

You pressed your lips tightly together as a question wanted to burst from your chest, but you couldn't, you had to hold it in, or else-!

"Do you even like me?"

Well, there it came.

"Huh?" Sanemi turned to glare at you, and you frowned as you looked away from him, "Sorry, that was stupid, I'm sorry-!"

"Of course I like you!" He snapped, "I wouldn't be with you if I didn't!"

"I see..." You nodded, but he wasn't done, "What makes you think I don't like you?"

"You..." You swallowed, "I know you like someone else... More than you like me..."

"What the fuck-!?"

"Please!" You shook your head, "At least... At least...!"

You didn't know what you wanted. Him to tell you the truth? Would you stand it? Would it break you? Destroy you?

Sanemi scowled, but he wasn't as stupid as one would think. His eyes widened as he realized that you knew about the woman he loved before you.

You knew about Kanae.

The Wind Hashira turned to glare at his feet, unable to look at you. He had been an awful man to you. Almost as bad as his old man was, only in a different way.

"When I met you, I was dying of pain..." Sanemi started, "I lost something I never had yet wanted to badly..."

You swallowed as you listened to him talk.

"I was a mess... I was drowning in despair... And then you came and threw a lifebelt, your love, at me, and I clung to it desperately."

Sanemi looked at his hand and flexed his fingers.

"You have every right to feel jealous... Fuck, I'd be too. Kanae, she was... She was beautiful and funny..."

"I know..." You nodded with a small smile, "I know I can't take her place in your heart... But I'm happy to take even something."

"That's not true!" Sanemi snapped as he turned to finally look at you and flinched as he saw the tears in your eyes.

You smiled as you wiped your teary eyes, not wanting to cry and look so unpleasant in front of your loved one, "It's okay, it really is..."

"Alright, you aren't her!" The Wind Hashira finally snapped, "But you are you! You are cute, extremely thoughtful and I can't understand how you can love a fuckup like me after everything I've done to you!?"

"I..." You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You swallowed the tears in your throat and nodded, "I... I will always love you, no matter what. You can shout at me, hit me, but just please don't throw me away...!"

"That would never happen!" The Wind Hashira shouted as his hands shot out and grabbed your face.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you looked so scared, like a little fawn, and Sanemi growled as he bolted forward and kissed you with everything he had.

The kiss... It felt like the first real kiss you guys shared. Tears streamed down your face as you closed them and happily kissed him back.

Slowly, you started to pull apart and opened your eyes, staring deeply into each other's souls.

"I love you." He stated, "You aren't Kanae, but I love you as you are."

"Sanemi...?"

"So, starting now..." He frowned as he kissed your forehead and hugged you close to his chest, "I'll stop loving you like I loved her, and start loving you as I love you."

"I...!" You started crying again as you wrapped your arms around him and returned his hug, "I'd love that very much."

"I know," He buried his face into your hair, "I'd love it too..."

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #sanemi shinazugawa #kanae kocho #reader #reader insert #fem!reader #female reader #writing #my writing #story #my story #angst #music request #formidablefrancine

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angelst4re · 2 years ago

Note

hi sweetie! i have been dying for a teacher x student type of story trope with jamie ;) with some smut if your comfortable <3

i dont think i've ever written for teacher!jamie before so i could not just let this request sit in my inbox for another 4 months... i also combined it with a jealous jamie smut request but i'm thinking of making a part 2 to this which has more jealous jamie... which i may even be writing right now!!! <3

Sugar- Teacher!Jamie x Reader

♡ warnings: NSFW!!! contains smut!!! please don't read if you're not comfortable love! NEITHER AGES ARE SPECIFIED BUT READER IS 18+ <3 it’s only ever mentioned that theres a 15 year age gap

♡ notes: i attempted to keep this as gender neutral as possible but reader is afab! also i kinda rushed this because i just needed to post something!! but there's going to be a part 2 I PROMISE!!!

“...Oh, and don’t forget, y/l/n, we have a one to one scheduled for 3:30 to discuss your exam results. I’ll be in my office.” Mr Bower, who insisted you call him Jamie, reminded you with a smile as you left the classroom.

“I haven’t forgotten, sir.” You say as you turn back around to smile at him, and give him a little wave before you leave the room.

You had two hours to spare before your meeting with the music teacher, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t spend the majority of the time in the bathroom making sure you looked perfect. You had been waiting for a moment like this, a moment alone with the teacher that has plagued your mind since the beginning of the school year. You and your friends, and most likely the entire class, had been captivated by not only his looks but his personality. Having learnt that he had recently become single after a three year long relationship, you felt like you stood a chance, but then you were quickly reminded of the 15 year age gap.

However, his behaviour around you didn’t go unnoticed. You’d catch him eyeing you up when you would come in wearing a new outfit that evidently boosted your confidence, or you would catch him looking over at you whilst you were in the middle of a written exam, and he would quickly divert his eyes when they met yours.

Despite the clear indication he may be into you the way you’re into him, you both had a very positive, friendly relationship. He would give you the best tips and advice, and be more than willing to help you progress in the ways you wished to, as he would with anybody in the class, but there was one particular encounter that you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You and your boyfriend, Andy, had a fight the night before and you had missed your class in the morning. Jamie got in contact with you to ask about the absence, and you felt comfortable enough to explain the situation to him. He told you that even if you didn’t attend your classes that day, to at least come in to talk about how you’re feeling. He assured you that although he didn’t qualify as a therapist, it would be good to talk to someone. And so you did.

You came in with unbrushed hair, wearing yesterday's clothes and threw yourself onto the chair in his office as you broke down in tears. You don’t remember much of that day, besides the pet names he would casually drop into his sentences.

Sweetheart, love, darling.

He definitely knew how to charm.

You also had a memory of staining his white shirt with tears as he let you cry into his chest, telling him how your boyfriend was a dick. How he was caught in bed with a random girl (to which there was proof) but he tried to convince you it never happened.

You remember Jamie telling you something along the lines of, “every failed relationship should be thought of as a blessing. It might be upsetting to see it come to an end, but it means you’re still yet to find the one out there who’s for you, and it's giving the chance to find them. The one that will treat you right, even on their bad days. You’ll never know where this person may be, but they’re definitely out there.”

It was apparent through a quick google search that Jamie was definitely experienced when it came to relationships, so you knew to trust him on this one.

You kept checking the time on your phone, waiting and waiting and waiting for it to hit 3:25 so you could begin walking towards Jamie’s office, but the time seemed to pass so slow.

It was only 3pm.

You sighed, placing your phone back down on the table you were sat at in the library. All your friends had gone home as you finish early on a Wednesday, yet you agreed to meet Jamie today as it was the only afternoon he had free this week.

Only seconds after placing your phone down on the table, the screen lights up as it begins to ring, the noise causing everyone to turn around, some even sending dirty looks your way as you pick up your bag and leave, answering the phone as you begin to walk towards the building where Jamie’s office was.

“What do you want, Andy?” You sighed, holding the phone up to your ear.

“I miss you,” he said, a feeble attempt to guilt trip you, “I was just looking at some old pictures and-”

“It was your idea for us to take a break in the first place. I’m not just going to drop everything and come running back to you because you ‘miss me’.”

“I’m sorry, okay. I realised what I did was wrong and…”

You stopped listening to what Andy was saying as Jamie passed you in the hallway, sensing your distressed state he stopped quickly to mouth an ‘is everything okay?’, to which you nodded your head.

“I don’t care, okay. Whatever you have to say I’m sure I’ve heard it all before. When I’m ready to talk to you I will, until then just please give me some space.” You say before ending the call, and you jump as you realise Jamie was waiting by your side.

You were blocking the door to his office.

“I’m so sorry!” You apologise, stepping to the side.

“Don’t apologise!” Jamie gasped, as if you had offended him, before opening the door for you, “we can start early if that’s okay with you, I have nothing else planned this afternoon.”

Nodding your head, you entered his office.

“So he’s still giving you grief- Andy?”

“How did you guess?” You scoff as you sit down on the chair opposite his desk.

“I don’t know how a someone like you can stay with someone like him-”

“We’re on a break, actually.” You interrupted. “Although he seems to care about me more now than he did in the 8 months we were together.”

“You need to leave him for good, sweetheart.” He told you, as he rummaged through the cabinet beside his desk, pulling out your exam papers and setting them in front of you. “So, let’s begin!”

Only twenty minutes into the session, your phone began to ring again, and you apologised to Jamie, getting ready to leave the room to take the call before realising it was Andy again. Jamie didn't look best impressed as you ran a hand through your hair stressfully.

“Give me your phone.” Jamie sighed.

“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll just switch it off-”

“Y/n. Phone.”

The sternness in his voice sent chills through your body, yet a warmth grew in your lower stomach.

By the time you handed your phone over to him, Andy had stopped calling. Hopefully, he had given up, but you knew he would keep going until he got his way, like always.

“You know, sweetheart, the look on your face when you saw it was him calling you told me everything.” Jamie said, leaning back in his chair.

“What do you mean?” You scoffed.

“You know what I mean, darling. Please stop trying to convince yourself he’s a good guy, not when he treats you like shit and expects you to drop everything for him. You deserve better.”

“And how do you know that? Sure, me and Andy might have our moments, but when he can be nice… he’s somebody completely different. Deep down, he’s a really good guy, Jamie.” You explain, feeling tears of frustration begin to gloss your eyes.

“I’m not buying it, love.” He said, shaking his head in disbelief.

And that was all it took to push you over the edge, shoving your phone into your bag as you pushed your exam papers towards him and stood up.

“That’s it, I’m not taking this anymore.” You frown, turning around to leave.

“There we go, that’s what you should say next time Andy’s on the phone-”

“Oh, Jamie, won’t you just shut up!” You shout, throwing your arms in the air. “What is your fucking problem today?”

“Well, technically your ‘boyfriend’ isn’t my problem, so…”

“Why do you care so much?” You finally say after a moment's silence, your hands placed on the back of the chair you were previously sitting on.

“You’re my student. It’s my job to care.” He answers, simply.

“But there’s more to it than that. Isn’t there?” You swallow, bracing yourself for his reply, “c’mon Jamie, I’m not stupid.”

“What are you trying to imply, darling?” He chuckles, standing up from his chair and making his way towards you, “are you talking about the way I catch you staring at me in class when everyone else is working, or how about when I hear you gossiping with your friends about my love life, or about how you could tell I had used a different aftershave one day…”

The smirk on his face was devilish, but you had no time to process that with your recent revelation.

“You’re jealous.” You stated, turning to look up at him. “You’re jealous of Andy.”

“Darling, I have no need to be jealous of him. Not when I know you’re leaving him.”

“You don’t know whether I’m-”

You never got to finish that sentence as you were met with his lips on yours. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear which had fallen in your moment of frustration. As he pulled back from the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours before whispering,

“What if I prove you- show to you why you should leave him, hm?” He asked, although it wasn’t much of a question as he could tell by the way you were looking at him what the answer was going to be. “I need words, baby.”

“Yes.” You managed to say, after catching your breath.

A smile spread across Jamie’s lips briefly before you pulled him back in, missing the feeling of his soft lips against yours. With one hand on your waist, holding you against him, the other was placed on your cheek again, whilst your arms wrapped around his neck. You had dreamt and fantasised about this moment for months, but you never expected it to ever happen. It was always more of a scenario to help you fall asleep rather than something that would actually come true.

“Does he fuck you good, hm? The way you want?” He asks, breathlessly, as he lifts you up onto his desk, shoving everything out of the way.

You shake your head, using the slight space between you to reach for his belt, but he seemed to have other plans.

“Has he ever gone down on you?” He asked bluntly, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts, easing them down your legs along with your underwear.

You once again shake your head, you have only received head once, and that was during a drunk fling at your friends birthday party- and even then you didn’t get to finish.

Jamie simply chuckled, as if to say he wasn’t surprised.

“Poor thing,” he frowns, lowering himself to his knees in front of you as he holds your legs open for him, placing kisses on your inner thighs, trailing down to your knees before going back up again, stopping where you needed him the most. “You ever cum when he fucks you?”

And as if on command, you shook your head again.

“Only when I’m alone.” You confess.

“Oh yeah, and who do you think about whilst you touch yourself?” He teases, his thumb gently stroking your clit as you fight the urge to close your legs. He looks up at you, stopping all movement as he waits on your answer.

“You, I think about you, Jamie.” You whine.

“Oh, honey, I know.” He says before you feel his lips on your skin, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers move a little lower, finding your opening and teasing circles around it before gently pushing one in.

His fingers were a favourite in your fantasies, thinking about what they could do, and he certainly did not disappoint.

A second finger followed the first and they began curling inside you, searching for a spot Jamie was sure your ex would never have been able to find, and when you let out a choked moan he smirked against you, knowing he’d found it.

Hif fingers rubbed against this spot inside you as his tongue licked, sucked and nibbled on the sensitive nub, and you were frighteningly close to the edge. You had never reached your high so quickly before, but as his hot breath fanned over your clit you tumbled off the edge, your orgasm washing over you. Your release began to drip down his hand as he continued at the pace he started, and your legs shook as you panted, your fingers pulling at his hair.

“Jesus,” you whispered breathlessly.

“Just me, darling.” He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before coming back up to place a kiss on your forehead.

You couldn’t believe the timing as there was a knock at the door to Jamie’s office. The two of you both froze for a moment, before Jamie handed you your clothes and rushed to the door.

“Mr Bower, I know you usually go home early today but Margaret told me you were here so I was just wondering if I could-”

“I’m in a meeting right now, Sasha, can you wait just two minutes?” He put on his best grin as he his behind the slightly open door to disguise his hard on.

“Oh, of course! Sorry to interrupt!” The girl apologised before Jamie shut the door.

“Sorry, sweetheart, we have to cut it short today. But you’re sure to be back in here later this week, or should I say let's reschedule?” He tried to hide his smirk when your legs wobbled as you got off his desk.

“I’m available all week, unless I decide to see Andy-”

“Honey, if I have to hear about him once more-”

“You’ll get all heated and fuck me senseless over your desk?” You grinned, feeling slightly giddy after the mind blowing orgasm he had given you, “why on earth would I want that?”

#jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie campbell bower smut #jamie bower x reader #jamie bower smut #jcb

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